A Call To The Chase
by chris400ad
Summary: Sam Vimes is a runner by nature, we all know that. This is a short story about a chase, a chase involving a would-be murderer, a wagon and a luckless pieman. A normal day for the watch. One-shot.


It was too damned hot, it always was in the summer. Vimes opened the window of his office with great care. The Assassins Guild had been trying for months to kill him, not that they ever succeeded. They always tried while he was at work or at home. But Vimes had set up a number of traps, moving tiles, pits filled with sewage. The window that Vimes had now opened was also a trap. The window, if opened from the outside, or on some occasions the inside, would snap shut on the fingers of any would be killer that tried to open it. Theodore G'Latch had broken his fingers that way when Vimes had been talking to Captain Carrot.

Vimes glared at his desk as he sat down in his chair. There was paperwork sitting there, there was always bloody paperwork. Vimes hated paperwork and paperwork hated Vimes. When the gods had designed Vimes they had not considered that his job would ever involve the wretched things. When they had designed him, if he was the creation of all powerful beings with bad taste in jokes and togas, they had never thought he would do anything with his life. No-one had really. Sam Vimes was just a kid who's grown up poor and become a copper and now look at him. He was a duke and Commander of the Watch. He was happily married to one of the richest women in all of the disc and all because he'd been in the right place at the right time.

Vimes knew that he hadn't deserved any of this. The one reminder of this was the paperwork staring accusingly at him from across the desk. It was always there, always ready to annoy him that little bit further. If Vimes had deserved this then he would have someone else to do his paperwork. But no, the Watch was made up of people who could barely hold a sword the right way round let alone a pencil.

There was a cough from the doorway. The cough itself was a bad sign. People only coughed like that when they were about to make your life worse and not enjoy doing so. But it was made worse by the look on the man's face. Carrot had never been good at concealing his emotions and now was no exception. Every part of Carrot screamed to Vimes that he didn't want to be here.

"Yes, Carrot?" Vimes asked glaring at the paperwork. Carrot saluted. Vimes stared at Carrot's breastplate, it really was a thing to behold. It shone, no gleamed. It reflected everything and everyone. Vimes was staring particularly at the window behind him. If the assassins were still trying to kill him, which he knew was true, then an arrow in the back of the head would do the trick.

"It's -" but Vimes never found out what Carrot wanted to tell him. On the roof behind Vimes a man moved. He was holding a crossbow and what was worse was that he was taking aim. Vimes dived, landing hard on the floor. The bolt that had been destined for the back of his head buried itself in the desk. For the first time in months Vimes felt alive, someone was trying to kill him.

And it wasn't an assassin either. They would have gotten uip close and personal but even if they had shot from the roof the weapon that had been used was not of an assassin. No, someone was trying to kill him and claim the reward for themselves. Right, Vimes thought hauling himself to his feet, if that's how you want to play it.

"Captain get everyone we have searching that roof, now." Vimes barked as he hurtled out of the office. Several watchmen looked at him in alarm as he sprinted down the stairs and out of the watch house.

Fred Colon glanced up as the door slammed shut behind Vimes. "Mister Vimes is in trouble, Nobby."

"Or whoever he's chasin' is," Corporal Nobby Nobbs said taking what looked like the world's oldest and foulest dog end from behind his ear. "Sarge, you got a light?" Nobby asked holding up the dog end.

"Here, you gonna arrest me or not?"

"Oh, right, sorry Vel, where were?" Sergeant Colon asked taking his gaze away from the door and turning back to the small man in front of him.

"Thievin' without a licence," Vel Bantini well known to both the watch and the thieves guild. The man made a living out of stealing things nobody particularly wanted and selling them to unsuspecting people who had absolutely no taste. The trouble was it worked, and Vel usually stole the stuff back off them once they realised it was rubbish. Vel, however, had grown, unfortunately for him not taller, but greedier. He stole fine pottery and this was the reason that he was peering over Colon's desk.

Colon looked at the small man and drew out a pair of handcuff and handed them to Nobby. He wrote down the tiny man's charges and put it on the pile of other charge sheets. Today was going to be a long day, Colon was sure of it.

Out on the street Vimes was running, something he hadn't had to do in years. The watch had grown over the years and slowly he had been pushed aside, away from actual coppering. But now Vimes was back where he belonged, he was on the chase. The man he was chasing wasn't an assassin, if the crossbow hadn't a giveaway, then his attire would have told Vimes that he was not an assassin. For a start he wasn't wearing black, assassins wore black. It was what they wore, everyone knew that. The man that was now shoving his way through a small crowd. The crowd mainly consisted of very angry looking clowns who were holding pies and glaring at anyone who passed.

Vimes shoved past them, his eyes fixed on the man he was chasing. He hadn't felt this alive in months. His heart was pounding, adrenaline pumping round his body. The man looked back, his eyes widened when he saw Vimes. Or at least that was what Vimes thought. At that moment a huge wagon, bouncing off the cobbled street over took him, Captain Carrot at the reins. Several people shrieked as the wagon leapt through the street.

"Ye gods," Vimes breathed as the wagon came to a sudden stop. The man had turned off the street hurtling down an alleyway. "Carrot, get that wagon round the other side, trap him in."

"Yes sir," Carrot called forcing the horses, who looked very old and unhealthy, back to a gallop and around the corner. Cut Me Own Throat Dibbler swore as the wagon knocked his tray out of his head and onto the head of an unsuspecting girl.

"Bloody lunatic!" Dibbler shouted as the girl burst into tears. Dibbler's food, if it could be called that, was disliked at the best of times by everyone. But when it leapt onto you out of nowhere and smeared itself all over, then you hated the damned things.

Vimes took off after the man throwing himself over boxes and crates. He was getting closer, the man was slowing struggling to traverse the mountains of boxes. But so was Vimes. Who put all these here? Vimes cursed whoever had put these here, he considered arresting them for obstructing him the course of his duties.

The wagon hurtled to a stop in front of the alley blocking the street. The man stopped and turned, aiming his crossbow. But his aim was off, he was trying to run and aim at the same time. The bolt shot feet over Vimes's head and bounced off the old and stained wall of the alleyway. The man's eyes widened as Vimes hurtled towards him.

The two men fell to the ground, Vimes threw away the crossbow smashing it against the wall. The man struggled against the Vimes's grip, he pushed Vimes away. Standing up he drew a knife. But Vimes was on his feet too and he'd been expecting it. He lunged forwards, the knife gleaming in the second-hand light of the alley.

Vimes grabbed the man's arm smashing it against the wall. He kneed the man into his stomach knocking the wind out of him. There were no rules, not now. The man swung for him but Vimes saw it coming and blacked the fist. He sent his own strike, hitting the man in the jaw. Pain exploded in his fist but Vimes ignored it.

"You're nicked," He growled, forcing the man's arm up his back. He cried out in pain as his legs gave way. "Attempted murder without a guild licence, take him away Carrot."

Pulling the man roughly to his feet Vimes threw him into the waiting arms of Captain Carrot. Carrot told the man his rights but Vimes wasn't listening. Rubbing his hand gingerly he drew the silver cigar case that Sybil had given him and took out a cigar. It came to something when the assassins had competition. At least he knew he was doing his job properly, people wouldn't be trying to kill him otherwise. Vimes withdrew a match from his pocket and struck it against the wall, sparking a flame into existence.

"Well done, sir." Carrot said when he returned from the wagon. "Lady Sybil won't be too pleased though, you know you've got that ball tonight."

Damn, he'd forgotten about the ball. He, Sam Vimes, would be stuck in a room full of politicians and aristocrats who all thought normal people were scum they could use to make money. They made Vimes's fists itch. Having been bought up in a nice, controlled environment these people had no idea what live really was. They were ignorant to anything other than money and all of them despised Vimes. Vimes despised them of course, but for different reasons. They were morons who would have trouble finding their arse with both hands and a very detailed map. They thought that everything was free and they deserved it for doing the momentous task of breathing.

"I suppose so," Vimes sighed, lighting his cigar.

"At least you'll be warm tonight, sir, there's a storm coming."

"I'd rather be patrolling Cable Street at three o'clock in the morning." Vimes said taking a deep breath. They got under his skin but Vimes knew there was no point arguing. He had missed the last three and there were only so many times you could claim you were needed on a case. In actual fact he had been patrolling the streets in his old boots. It had been good to feel the street, even if it was only for a while.

Still he'd argue his case, and lose. He always did. Sybil loved the balls and parties and Vimes only went to make her happy. She was proud of him, he had no idea why. She showed him off to everyone, her husband, Sam Vimes, Commander of the Watch. He was an ill-mannered, ill-tempered copper who belonged on the streets rather than at fancy balls. At the last party he had called a very influential politician an idiot because he thought the Watch were wasting their time and thought that they should leave the criminals to it. But then again the same man had thought that Bloody Stupid Johnson was a genius. A legend in his own lifetime. The truth was that Blood Stupid Johnson was just that and any who thought any differently was even wore.

Vimes looked at the watch that Carrot had given him as a wedding present. It was five to twelve. Still another eight hours to try and get out it. That was something at least. Vimes sighed, knowing that he would have to attend. And he would have to be presentable and try and keep his temper, though both he and Sybil knew it was no good. Because he was a duke, no matter how much he looked quite the opposite. But right now, the ball was the least of his worries.

"Let's get back to the yard, Captain, find out how much my reward money's gone up to."

And with that Sam Vimes made his way out of the alley throwing his cigar to the ground as he did so. It flickered and died, like so many things did in the city. But Sam Vimes wasn't one of those things. He continued living no matter what they threw at him, partly because he wanted to live but mostly to simply annoy them. Vimes was glanced up as the first drop of rain hit his helmet. When it rains it pours, he thought as they storm cascaded down upon them.

There would be questions asked, tea offered and eyebrows raised when Vimes returned the yard. But worst of all there'd be more paperwork. There was always paperwork.


End file.
